


Heavy Rain

by LadyHat



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Body Horror, Ghosts, Horror, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-22 21:54:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7455268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyHat/pseuds/LadyHat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve has just moved into his new home in a run down apartment complex. Soon he's noticing strange things happening, like the water that seems to cling to every surface and drips from his bedroom ceiling. </p>
<p>One night, Steve meets a man named Bucky in a yellow rain coat and lets him inside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heavy Rain

The bus was tightly packed, shoulders brushing and the air sticky from sharing breath. It jostled over a dip in the road, causing Steve to bump into the man and woman beside him. He mumbled an apology and held his box closer to himself. He gazed outside the fogged windows, the heavy rain spattering on the fogged glass.  
  
It was a Thursday and his mother was dead.  
  
He stepped off the bus and onto the wet pavement. Walking in the down pour, body curled protectively over the box. It was late in the evening, the bright lights of the night stores coming alive, their glow blurred into dancing shapes of colour in the rain. Steve hurried towards a large apartment complex just over ten stores high, a featureless solid shape, it’s paint yellowed and streams of browned liquid leaking from the cracks. He ran towards the door, reaching out and shaking the handle to no avail. Sighing in frustration and shifting the box’s weight onto his hip, he begun banging his fist on the door, the glass rattling from the force. He heard a low grumble and the door swung open.  
  
A small over weight man gazed at Steve with distaste.  
  
“What? What do you want? Forget your bloody key?” Steve shook his head.  
  
“No, I don’t have one yet. I’m just moving in.” The fat man exhaled heavily, his chin wobbling.  
  
“Well might as well get inside then, out of that damned rain. Look at you, such a sorry sight.” Steve gave a feeble smile and stepped inside, his hair dripping. “Do you have your papers with you?” Steve nodded, sticking his hand inside the box, rustling around before pulling out a small bundle of documents. The man grunted and snatched it from him, eyes skimming over the page. He wandered behind a small wooden reception desk, groaning as he leant down and fetched a small sliver key from a draw. He turned to Steve and handed it to him. “All yours, apartment 198. Enjoy.” The man returned to sitting on a thin chair that squeaked under his weight behind the desk. Steve nodded and walked towards an elevator. He frowned.  
  
**_OUT OF ORDER_**  
  
He heard a laugh from behind him.  
  
“These old buildings, nothing ever works in ‘em.” Steve trudged towards the stairs and looked up and the endless spiralling upwards. He sighed.  
  
The apartment was utterly underwhelming. Compact, with one bedroom, a bathroom complete with a tiny bath and a small kitchen that lead into a living space. A bulky television sat alone on a stool, left over by the previous tenant, in front of it a hideously red sofa. Steve placed the box on the kitchen counter and fell into the couch, staring at the ceiling. He crinkled his nose. It was littered with spots of mould.  
  
This was the first time he had ever lived alone. In this dull apartment amidst crumbling concrete and cheap lights.  
  
He felt a dry sob escape from his lips and curled into himself. His thin shoulders shook, lungs heaving and eyes burning from tears, a thin trail of snot dribbled from his nose. He scrambled for his inhaler and breathed deeply to stop the waves of choking. He cried for what felt like hours, the stress leaving a throbbing headache. Steve fell asleep wet and uncomfortable, dazed from his tears.  
  
He woke up suddenly, disorientated and frightened. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, and another for him to realise he wasn’t home. He wobbled to his legs and swayed towards the light switch. It flickered on, a dismal yellow. Steve peeled off his soaking clothes that stuck to his skin, before rummaging through the box and finding a pair of track pants and a grey jumper. He swallowed thickly and rubbed his raw throat. He would need to buy cups tomorrow.  
  
Padding into the kitchen he turned on the sink, bending down and drinking. He quickly turned it off and wiped his mouth. He licked his lips and stared at the dripping faucet. The water left a foul taste in his mouth. He looked at the time.  
  
**2.07AM**  
  
Legs wobbling he made his way to the bedroom and collapsed onto the bed, burrowing his face into the pillow and falling asleep.

*  
  
The next morning, Steve went out to buy some corn flakes, milk, bread and brightly coloured plastic cutlery from a corner store down the road. He ate alone at the kitchen counter. He had turned on the television, but a black line of dead pixels ran down the screen. He kept it on for the sound, it’s muffled crackle to filling the silence. It was still raining.  
  
He opened and sorted out the box, placing his clothes neatly in the corner of the bedroom, his shoes in another and his drawing supplies on inconspicuous desk. He lay on the flimsy mattress, pulling the covers over himself and watched the wall. He felt himself drifting.  
  
_Drip_  
  
Steve's eyes flickered open. He looked up at the ceiling.  
  
_Drip_  
  
A tiny sound, almost unnoticeable. He raised from the bed and studied the roof, putting out his hand. A drop of water splashed on his palm. He frowned. It was probably the rain leaking through the plaster. He walked and grabbed a cup from the kitchen and placed it carefully under the wet patch.  
  
For the rest of the day Steve sat on the sofa watching the television drone on. He didn’t move once until it was late in the night  
  
Earlier in the day Steve had missed a call from Sam. He listened to the recording, Sam’s voice gentle and tentative.  
  
“How you holding up man? You gotta invite me to your new place sometime…I know this is hard Steve, and it never goes away, but remember it gets easier.”  
  
Steve sent a text back.  
  
_I’m fine, just need some space right now –Steve_  
  
He got an immediate reply.  
  
_I know man, but be careful ok? Having too much space can drive you crazy._

_I’m always here if you need to talk –Sam_  
  
_I know, don’t worry-Steve_  
  
Steve rubbed his eyes and came close to the window. He looked outside and saw a man wearing a bright yellow rain coat, like the ones children wore. He was standing there in front of the complex, face obscured by the hood of the coat. Steve watched him with a bland curiosity. The man didn’t move.  
  
Water suddenly burst from the tap.  
  
“Shit!”  
  
Steve rushed into the kitchen, hissing as the water sprayed over his pants. He twisted it off and sighed in relief, sinking down onto the floor. A strange smell of rot filled his nostrils making him cover his nose. He raised himself off the ground, muttering in irritation. The smell had disappeared. He walked past the window and noticed the man was gone.  
  
The next day Steve went outside and finally bought a blue umbrella, realising the rain wasn’t going to stop any time soon. He trailed through the streets, stopping every once and awhile to gaze into a store front, before continuing onwards. He wore red gum boots and his grey jumper again, not bothered to change. On the way home, he visited the run down corner store and bought a few boxes of pasta and instant noodle cups. He jingled the change in his pocket and decided he would go to the laundry mat later in the day.  
  
He had to be mindful on his way up the stairs, large pools of muddied water almost making him slip twice. He swallowed and looked over the railing. It would be a long fall down.  
  
Steve poured out the overflowing cup in his room and replaced it was a larger bowl. He lay down in bed and closed his eyes to have a nap.  
  
The laundry mat was filthy, blinding florescent lights bearing down harshly, exposing every crack and layer of dirt. The other occupants were only a young woman with pink cheeks wearing a green hooded jacket and a elderly man sitting hunched over counting his change. Steve twitched in the silence, the only sound the tumbling clothes and the mechanical moaning of the washing machine. He watched the hypnotic roll of pants and shirts.  
  
As Steve came home again he got a text from Sam, asking if he wanted to have dinner with him tonight.  
  
_Where?-Steve_  
  
_Some place cheap-Sam_  
  
They decided on a tiny restaurant that was carved out of a brick wall. Steve waiting in the rain under his blue umbrella. Sam ran towards him, holding his coat over his head in an attempt to protect himself. Steve grinned at him and waved.  
  
“God this rain it never ends! I swear I’m about to grow gills or something.” He chuckled and hung his arm over Steve’s narrow shoulders, completely enveloping him. “Hey Steve, how you going man? I haven’t seen you since the funeral.” Steve looked away.  
  
“I needed time, you know how it is.” Sam nodded and pulled Steve closer.

“Yeah…” He said softly, trailing off into his own thoughts. He clapped his hands. “Okay! It’s time for some burgers and beer.”  
  
They each sat aside from each other at a small table, the restaurant dimly lit by red tinged, low hanging lights. Both ordered a beer, Sam ordering a spicy chicken burger and Steve a classic beef burger. It sat stuffed with lettuce, tomato and melting cheese. He picked at it half-heartedly. Sam took a sip from his beer and watched Steve with poorly concealed worry.  
  
“You sure you don’t want to stay at my place for awhile? I got plenty of room, and hey I could use a little extra help around the house.” Steve frowned and stared down at his drink.  
  
“No, I couldn’t ask that of you. Besides I got a new place anyways, I already paid the deposit. I don’t want to put that money to waste.” He noticed Sam’s concern. “Seriously Sam I’m fine!”  
  
“Your mum just died, you’re not fine.” Steve threw his hands into air.  
  
“Okay! I’m not fine, but its just the regular grieving process! It’s just-” He swallowed. “I’m just still processing it.” Sam patted his shoulder. Steve felt his lip tremble, but he bit down on it. “It wasn’t unexpected or anything, she had been sick a long time.”  
  
“Doesn’t make it any less painful Steve.” Sam drew his hand back. They sat in silence. “Would you at least stay at mine tonight?” Steve smacked Sam’s arm.  
  
“Nope.”  
  
“You stubborn ass.” Sam smiled.  
  
Sam walked him home, both of them shoving each other playfully and tugging to get underneath the umbrella. _  
_

Steve jingled his keys and unlocked the door. The large man, who he discovered was named Mr Glascow, was asleep behind the desk snoring loudly. He went up the stairs and stepped inside his apartment. He blinked. The television was on, the sound of static crackling filling the room. Steve turned it off, he must have left it on when he had gone to meet Sam.

In the kitchen dirty dishes had begun to pile and smell. Steve stared at the flies swarming over the festering plastic. He half heartedly set to washing the dishes, grabbing a sponge and some green detergent. He turned on the tap and scrubbed the cheap plates and cups, rinsing them in the water and drying them on the bench under a purple tea towel. The water spurted from the faucet and turned black. Steve yelped and quickly wrenched the tap off. He looked in the sink, the substance swirling down the drain. He wiped some and his finger and studied it, bringing it to his nose to smell. He gagged and spat into the sink, hastily cleaning his hand on a paper towel. He stared at the tap, hesitantly turning it back on. The water was clear. He lay back against the kitchen counter and pressed his palms to his eyes. He didn’t finish the dishes.  
  
The bowl he had left in his room was sitting in a giant puddle, the carpet stained. Steve swore and ran out with a new bowl, switching the two. He looked up, the water now fat drops, roof sagging slightly. He muttered to himself, looking down at the wet patch in irritation. He placed towels over it and changed into his track pants. Turning off the lights and limping into bed, Steve drifted off into sleep.

Steve jumped up and turned around confused. The television had turned on. He stumbled out of bed to shut it off, draping the blanket over himself.  
  
The screen’s glow cut through the darkness, the sound of _I Love Lucy_ tittering from the old speakers, a muffled laugh track in Steve’s ears. He flicked it off and banged the top of the television.  
  
“Stupid old thing.” He looked at the small clock on the kitchen counter.  
  
**2:07AM**

Steve shivered as he felt a cold breeze envelope him. He turned his head to see that the window was open, rain dripping from the ledge and onto the floor.

“God damn it!” He rushed to slam it closed, yanking the stiff window down. He exhaled deeply before pausing. Sunny yellow pierced the night, the colour of a rain coat worn by a man. Steve leant forwards, resting his face on the cool glass to get a better look. The man in the yellow rain coat stood still in the hard down pour, standing outside the apartment complex directly in front of the door, yet made no move to open it.  
  
Steve tore himself away and padded back towards the bedroom, changing the water bowl and slumping back into the sheets.  
  
*  
  
The sky was grey, heavy with dark drooping clouds and fat rain drops. Steve clutched his folder and hurriedly arrived at a looming building with rows of icy blue windows. He stepped inside and waited at the front desk. A lithe woman with dark brown hair and thin lips evaluated him.

“Can I help you sir?” Steve gave a watery smile.

“I’m here to deliver this to Natasha, uh I mean Ms. Romanov please, it’s the prints for the _Littlest Caterpillar_ she asked for.” The woman nodded briskly and dialled on the phone in her hand.  
  
“Yes, yes I have an illustrator here for you, he says his name is Steven- “

 “Its just Steve."

 “-and he has the finished prints, yes I’ll send him up.” The woman covered the speaker. “Floor twenty-three, on you’re right. Elevator is over there.” Steve thanked her and walked into the lift, the door making a sweet ding and numbers lighting up. He stepped inside, sharing with a handsome man in a suit preoccupied with his phone. When he reached his floor he shifted the folder and turned right towards a large glass office. Inside was Natasha, her beautiful red hair cascading down her shoulders and sleek black dress hugging her curves. Her gaze lingered him and she grinned, beckoning him closer. _  
_

“Steve, glad to see you haven’t drowned in all this rain, although knowing your luck I wouldn’t put it past you just yet.” Steve chortled, and placed the folder down in the desk.  
  
“I’m just as surprised as you are, if the rain doesn’t kill me the cold sure as hell will.” Natasha picked up the folder and opened it, pulling out the pages. She studied them closely.  
  
“Great job Steve, not that I’m surprised. I’ll send these down to processing this afternoon and put in the notice to the author, he wants to take a look at them before we do any printing. Make sure it portrays his artistic vision or something ridiculous. He’s already rejected one, for God’s sake it’s a children’s book about a caterpillar not the next Hemingway.” She touched the prints. “But these are fantastic Steve, if he refuses them I’m scraping the project.” Steve flushed and scratched his arm.  
  
“Thanks Nat.”  
  
“I always know how to make a pretty girl blush.” Steve snorted. She carefully put the papers back in the folder. Natasha tapped her hand on the table. “Do I need to ask?” Steve stiffened and looked away.  
  
“No.” He said. She nodded.  
  
“Okay.”

The bus ride home was long an uneventful, the windows fogged from his breath. He stepped off and walked home. The sky had darkened and night was fading in. Steve hurried inside, glimpsing the snoozing Mr. Glascow and went up the spiralling stairs.

That night he sat up and ate chicken noodles from a foam cup, slurping them in silence. He stayed up late reading on his computer and sketching ideas for the next book the company has sent him. He looked at his phone.

**2:07AM**

He wandered to the window and spotted the obnoxious yellow of the rain coat. The man was waiting at the door again. Steve paused and grabbed his thickest scarf, the blue umbrella and red gum boots. He steadily travelled down the stairs into the lobby. Mr Glascow was absent. He unlocked the door.

The man had wild dark hair, unkempt stubble and blue eyes, his skin a deathly pale in contrast to brilliant yellow of the rain coat. Steve hesitated, wondering if this had been a good idea after all.

“Hey.” The man didn’t move. Steve tried again, this time walking closer. “Hey are you alright?” The man stumbled backwards, eyes wide. Steve flinched. “Oh, sorry, I’ll uh just leave.” The man blinked.  
  
“No, um. Hi.” His voice was soft, yet rough from disuse. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine, thank you for asking.” Steve watched the man’s face for any sign of aggression. He found none. He reached out out his hand.  
  
“I’m Steve, I saw you out here the other night. Do you live here or something? Are you locked out?” The man stopped a moment.

“Yeah I am, I like to come down here and stand in the rain when I can’t sleep, but I always forget my key.” He shifted and shook Steve’s hand.  “My names James, but you can call me Bucky if you want. Most people do.” Steve pulled out his umbrella and stepped outside into the cold.

“Do you want some company? I can’t sleep either.” Bucky nodded, moving aside for Steve. “So how does this help exactly.” Bucky looked down at the pavement.

“It’s the sound, it’s relaxing. I like it, especially from inside my rain jacket.” Steve nodded, taking in the childishly bright coat. He closed his eyes, inhaling the smell of the rain and the sound of it pattering on the umbrella.  
  
“It is pretty nice.” Bucky smiled at him. “Go to admit it would be a lot nicer if it wasn’t so bloody freezing.” Steve laughed. “Do you want to come inside Mr Yellow Rain Coat?” 

Bucky froze, looking up at the building before chuckling. “Sure Mr Blue Umbrella, lead the way.” Steve grinned, unlocking the door behind him. Bucky paused in the door frame, touching the wood and staring at the inside. Steve waved him over. “Come on we’re letting the rain in!” Bucky stepped inside. Steve walked up the moved up the stairs, Bucky following closely behind him. Steve stopped at his apartment door, fiddling with his keys and opening the door. “I just moved in so I don’t know anyone in the building yet except Mr Glascow. What floor are you on?” Bucky pointed at the ceiling.

“Next floor up.” He looked around the hallway. He met Steve eyes with sudden intensity. “Thank you for letting me in.”

“No worries,” Steve waved him off. “Just try not to get locked out again. I can’t always be there to save you.” He leaned on the door. He peeled at the paint with his thumb nail. “You should come over sometime. I make a mean cup noodle.” Bucky smiled.  
  
“I’d like that. See you tomorrow.” Bucky wandered off to the stairs and disappeared.  
  
Steve watched him and felt himself smile. He went inside to the bedroom, face dropping.

The bowl was spilling everywhere, the towels soaked and spreading water.

“Fuck!”  
  
*  
  
The next morning Steve sat in the bath, washing his hair and lathering his body with soap. He sunk into the warmth, breathing through his nose. He lay there submerged for an hour. When he rose from the water it had gone cold, his thin frame shivering violently from the chill. Steve reached out for a towel, swearing when he realised they were all in the other room soaking up the puddle. He ran out naked into his bedroom, snatching a shirt and attempting to dry himself with it. He put on the warmest clothes he owned and dived into the bed, trying to calm his trembling hands and fight off the cold.  
  
After about half an hour he got up and started drawing for the next children’s book titled _Where is my Mummy?_ He glared at it bitterly. He looked around the lousy apartment and kicked away a sofa pillow. But this place was cheap and they let him move in as soon as he needed. When his Ma had died he had lost the house, unable to pay the mortgage, and he spent what little savings they had had left on the funeral. He grabbed the pillow and threw it across the room. He hated this place, what it meant. A constant reminder that his Ma was dead and he had to somehow move on alone in this dismal place. He felt tears welt in his eyes as he slid down the sofa and onto the floor.  
  
That night he ate two bowls of corn flakes for dinner and a packet of gummy worms for dessert. He lay back on the sofa, poking at his eyes, pink and puffy from crying. Outside his door he heard a thump. Slowly lifting himself Steve made his way towards the door, opening it slightly. He saw yellow.

“Bucky?” Bucky whirled around looked at Steve, startled.  
  
“Hi Steve.” Steve peered out into the hallway.  
  
“What are you doing out here?” Bucky was soaking wet, as if he had just come in from the rain, water pooling around his feet. Steve sighed. “Never mind, you look like a wet dog. You want to come in? Let me give you some tea before you get hypothermia.” Steve opened the door fully, Bucky staring at him. “Come on get inside Mr Yellow Rain Coat.” Bucky smiled.

“You got it Mr Blue Umbrella.”

Steve boiled the water on the stove top and set out two mugs.

“Milk and sugar?” Bucky nodded, distracted by looking over Steve’s apartment. His eyes landed on the hideous couch.

“Nice sofa.”  
  
“Oh shut up.” Steve grumbled, pouring the water and stirring the tea. He opened his cupboard and pulled out a stack of instant noodle cups. “Okay so I have chicken, beef, spicy chicken, spicy beef, mi goreng, seafood curry, miso, chilli tomato, home style, soba and more chicken.” Steve glanced at Bucky, standing befuddled and carefully stirring his tea.

“You decide.”

“I can’t be under pressure like that Buck, don’t do this to me.” Steve grinned. Bucky huffed.

“Fine, I’ll have the chicken.”

“Which chicken?”

“The regular chicken.” Steve laughed and poured the boiling water into into the cup, placing a lid on it. After two minutes he handed the cup to Bucky.

“Be careful alright it’s hot.” Bucky stared down at the thin noodles floating in broth, seeping with artificial flavour. Steve snapped the ready made plastic fork into place and handed it to Bucky. “La gourmet Chicken Noodlé, enjoy.” Bucky stirred the noodles, watching the dehydrated vegetables swirl.   
  
“Why did you move here?” Steve stiffened.  
  
“Money mostly. This place was the cheapest I could find so last minute.” Steve said.

“Last minute?” 

"My Ma died, I got kicked out, had to move fast, you know the drill.” Steve swallowed the lump in his throat.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. So how long have you lived here?” Bucky stared at him. “Bucky?”

“Awhile.”  
  
Steve took a sip of his tea, relishing the pleasant warmth. It was only this close did Steve realise suddenly how filthy Bucky was. His nails caked with dirt and his hair wild and oily. Bucky glanced out the window.

“I should go,” He leant forward earnestly. “Thanks Steve.” He glided past Steve and out the door, gone. Steve looked down, following a trail of steam and noticed the noodles completely untouched.  
  
He went to bed that night thinking of Bucky. The small dent in the ceiling was now protruding oddly and stained a dark brown. He slept.  
  
Steve gasped, body heaving upwards and sticky with sweat. He wiped his wet forehead with the back of his hand. He rolled out of bed and rested his head in-between his knees, breathing heavily. Steve staggered upwards and limped into the kitchen, grabbing a cup from the counter and filling with water. He threw his head back and drank.

**2:07AM**  
  
He retched, throwing the cup on the floor, water splattering everywhere. Steve shoved his fingers into his mouth and pulled out long streams of dark hair, gagging as it slithered from his throat. He fell to the ground, chest heaving. He leaped up at the sound of the television turning on, smacking his shoulder on the counter. He groaned in pain, slipping on the water and almost falling again, steadying himself on the kitchen top. The screen flickered in the dark, long horizontal lines of bright colours flashing over and over. He waddled over to the television and yanked the cord out from the socket. He sighed, shoulders slumping.  
  
_CRRSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH **HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH**_  
  
The speakers screamed. Steve slipped backwards in fright, smashing his head into the ground. He shouted in agony, rolling to his side and pressing his hands over his ears. It cut off. Steve lay on the ground moaning. His eyes bore into the dead television. Shakily getting up from the floor, Steve backed away to the bedroom, eyes never leaving the black glassy screen. He shut the door to his room lightly, and arranged himself in the bed. He didn’t sleep, eyes glued to the ceiling and listening to the soft drips.  
  
The television was placed out outside Steve’s apartment the next day, resting beside the door.  
  
*  
  
Steve roamed around the complex, observing the rusting pips that seemed to protrude from every surface, the bricks covered in peeling faded blue paint, grime layering every surface. It was dark and cold, the building having no central heating system and few windows. The monotonous dripping from the building’s leaks echoed down the halls. He explored each floor, regarding the long narrow hallways and numerous identical doors. Each doorway brown with a small gold rusted number and every wall a bleak grey. He thought he heard the scuttling of rats on the lower levels. The higher he climbed the more everything seems to be moist, the railing becoming too slippery to hold. He walked down the floor Bucky had said he lived on, passing each door curiously wondering which one Bucky was inside, as if it were a game. Steve came towards a door and paused. It was the room directly above his, apartment 212. He remembered the increasingly large pool of water currently sitting in his bedroom. He knocked on the door.

“Hello?” He called. “Hey I live down below you, I wanted to ask if you have any broken pipes or noticed anything leaking in there? See there’s this water coming from my roof, do you know anything that could be causing it?” There was no answer. Steve rapt his knuckles on the door again. “Hello? Is anyone here?” He stood alone outside in the empty hall. He heard a television and a baby crying a few doors down. “Okay.” He mumbled to himself. “I’ll come back later.”  
  
Steve tottered through the hall and spiralled further upwards on the stairs. He came to enclosed concrete space with a thick metal door and a large rusting padlocked chain. 

**NO ENTRY WITHOUT PERMISSION**

Steve pushed on it experimentally, listening to the grind of metal. It opened a crack, light streaming in. He pressed his face into the gap, feeling the breeze lick his face. He saw the clouded sky and the indistinguishable buildings in neat blocks, their paint fading dead colours. The roof top was black and slick with water, in the corner of his eye, he could make out the side of a old water tank, brown rust streaks trickling down the sides. Steve stuck his hand through and felt the rain pattering on his hand.

Steve carefully stepped down the stairs and walked back to his apartment. He sighed, he hadn’t slept properly in days. He felt his phone vibrate.  
  
_Hey want to go out again tonight? You can’t live off cereal and instant noodles forever -Sam_  
  
_I think I’m going to get some more work done tonight, I have been falling behind schedule lately -Steve_  
  
_You’re an artist, since when have you ever sticked to schedules? -Sam_

_Shut up let me pretend -Steve_  
  
_You sure you don’t want to venture out? We can just go to McDonalds -Sam_

_No I don’t feel like going out tonight, stop asking –Steve_

He threw the phone onto the sofa and went into his room, curling into bed. He closed his eyes, chest feeling heavy. Steve wanted to scream in frustration, but he was far too tired. He fell into a state of half sleep.   _  
_

He woke up in the late afternoon, body sluggish. He felt his stomach grumble but ignored it. Steve lurched into the living room, feeling as if he was wading through mud. He glared at the empty space where the television used to sit. He paused, looking at the disarray of his home, the clothes sprawled the floor, empty soda bottles, stacks of used dishes and rotting cup noodle husks littered around the place. Steve bumped his head into the wall. He’ll clean it up when he got home. Grabbing his umbrella, he opened the door and went outside.  
  
The rain thumped on windows. Steve sniffed, the sound echoing down the hall. He trekked to the reception.

Mr. Glascow was again absent. Behind the desk, in his dripping, yellow rain coat, was Bucky. He was motionless, dark bags under his eyes. Steve stopped a moment, how strange this was briefly crossing his mind before pushing it out and shuffling over to greet his new friend.  
  
“Hey Bucky.” Bucky picked at the counter.

“Bucky? Who’s that?” He puffed out his cheeks and squashed his face. “I’m Mr. Glascow, and you better get your little ass out of my lobby.” Steve laughed, leaning over the desk.

“Well maybe this ass happens to like exactly where it is.” Bucky spun around in the chair, his rain coat fanning out like a cape.

“Well it is a pretty nice ass, I better listen to it.” Steve paused, searching Bucky’s face but finding nothing. Bucky continued to spin, humming softly to himself.

“Damn right you better. How have you been since since last night?” Steve said. Bucky stared at the rain through the dirty window panel in the door.

“I’ve been fine. You?” Steve nodded.

“Yeah I have been fine too,” Bucky snorted and pressed his face into the desk. Steve frowned. “What?”

“You’re doing it, that thing, when people ask if you’re okay you just say what you think won’t make them worry.” Bucky mumbled, his eyes glazed over as if lost in memory. Steve stuttered, pushing off the table.

“You barely even know me, and besides maybe I could say the exact same thing about you, how do I know you’re not lying?” He snapped. Bucky rested his face in his palm, head rocking as if it was full of water.

“You don’t.” They sat in silence for a few minutes. Bucky rummaged through his pocket and pulled out a small bag of lollies. “Do you want one?” Steve shook his head.

“Is this the bit where you ask me if I want to see your van?” Bucky stared at him before cracking a smile. Steve grinned back at him, hopping up onto the desk, his legs dangling. He looked down at Bucky, poking at his hood and pondering why he was still wearing it inside. He reflected back on today, how lonely he had been, dwelling in his own discomfort. “Do you want to come over for dinner again? I promise it’ll be something classier than cup noodles; it might even be a bowl of corn flakes.” Bucky straightened his coat nervously. He glanced at the door.

“Yeah, I’d like that. What time is good for you?” Steve tapped the desk with his knuckle and jumped off.

“Hm probably in around seven? At least you don’t have to walk too far.” Bucky patted Steve’s back and lifted himself out of the chair.

“See you then.” He sauntered off, disappearing up the staircase.  
  
Steve turned, hearing the sound of the door squealing open, Mr. Glascow and an old woman hobbling through. The woman looked to be in her mid seventies, hair silvery and tied up on a loose bun, the sides dropping to frame her long drawn face, a thin plastic rain poncho draped over her clothes. She clutched four plastic bags brimming with vegetables, fruits and milk. Mr. Glascow pushed past her grumbling, shaking the water off himself like an animal before plopping onto the chair behind the desk. The woman glared at him with scorn before tottering towards the stairs, obviously struggling. Steve rushed towards her.

“Can I help you with those bags ma’am?” The woman chuckled.

“No need honey Old Janey here has it under control.” She said.

“The stairs are awfully slippery today, I could never forgive myself if you fell. Please it’s no trouble for me.” Janey chortled and shoved the bags to Steve so fast he almost dropped them.

“Aren’t you a sweet one? What’s your name Sugar?”

“Steve ma’am.”  
  
“I should introduce you to my daughter. She’s married of course but it won’t take much convincing I tell you, bet you could teach her that real man shows respect. Not like that no good husband of hers, such a selfish bastard, not worth the shit I scrape off the bottom my shoe.” Steve laughed and followed her, listening to her continue to rant from subjects to her lousy son in law to the rising prices of lettuce by five cents.  
  
They arrived at room 204, Steve attempting to hide the slight tremor of his thin arms from the the strain of carrying so much up stairs for so long. The woman smiled and him and held his hand, her skin cool and leathery.

“Thank you, such a lovely boy you are.” She clicked open the door and started to walk in, before Steve swiftly stopped her.  
  
“Ma’am, could I ask you something?”

“Go on Sugar while I'm still young,”

“Do you know who lives in 212? Just down there?” He pointed down the hall. The old woman stroked through her hair in thought.

“No can’t say I do exactly, almost certain no one has lived there for years.” Steve huffed, questioning how he was going to fix his leaking problem.

“Thank you ma’am, if you ever need anything I’m just down stairs in 198.” The woman brushed him off.

“I will Sweetie, and call me Janey, ma’am makes me feel like an old woman.” She winked.

Steve didn't end up going out, instead deciding to order Chinese food. Fried rice with steam dancing in the air, golden drizzled honey chicken, fresh crisp spring rolls and three containers full of an assortment of swollen dumplings. He shoved all the rubbish laying around into a plastic bag, threw all the clothes into his bedroom and filled the sink with hot water and soap to leave the dishes in to soak. It still wasn’t very tidy, but it would have to do. Steve ran into the bedroom to change the water bowl. He really needed to buy a bucket.  
  
He placed all the food out on the counter and set out two forks. Steve sat on the sofa and waited with anticipation. He heard a knock on the door. Opening the door he saw Bucky and paused. Bucky was still in his yellow rain coat.

“There’s a tv out here.” Bucky said, looking down at the television sitting inconspicuously in the hallway.

“Yeah I thought it was about time I got rid of the old thing,” He glanced down it uneasily. “Do you ever take that off? The rain coat I mean.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing, nothing. It’s just we’re inside, you’re not going to get too wet in here.” Bucky watched him, frowning.

“You never know. Besides, this is my favourite coat.” He tugged at the sleeves. Steve moved aside to let Bucky in.

“Don’t worry, it’s adorable. Hope you like Chinese food.” Bucky hummed and walked towards the counter, inhaling the oily sweet smell of the food. He looked at Steve, as if asking for permission. Steve gestured at him to eat. “Go on, I didn’t get all this to have for myself.” Bucky hesitantly reached out for a dumpling, unsure as he brought it to his lips. He paused a moment, before taking a small bite. He chewed it slowly and swallowed.

“It’s really good Steve.” Steve smiled at him and stood adjacent from Bucky, grabbing two plates and handing one to him, Steve started to pick out food. Bucky copied him, reaching for the exact same food after Steve. Steve decided not to question it. Bucky was probably just nervous.

They ended up sitting on the floor of the living room munching away at their dinner and talking. While he certainly didn’t regret throwing the last one out, Steve was beginning to miss having a television. He heard the pipes rattle over head.

“This place is falling apart I swear. I’m surprised no one has been killed yet.” Bucky shrugged.

“It grows on you eventually.”

“Does it?”

“No, not really.”

“Great.” Steve said, anxiously looking around the house, taking in the mess and accidentally slurping a dumpling too fast. He choked, spiting it out on the carpet, a thin trail of saliva hanging from his lips. Steve felt his cheeks burn. “Oh God I’m sorry, I’ll clean that up now.” Bucky stared at the steaming dumpling on the floor.

“Yeah, I didn’t really like that flavour either.” Steve laughed, sagging with relief and grabbing a paper towel from the kitchen to scoop up the dumpling.

"Would have been a real waste if I had dropped the pork ones,” He chucked the dumpling in the bin. “Still, sad such a good dumpling went to waste.” Bucky nodded, cheeks puffy as he chewed some honey chicken. Steve rearranged himself back on the floor, crossing his legs. He tapped his plate.

“You still haven’t taken the rain coat off.” Bucky halted, looking down at his clothes.

“I forgot I guess, here I’ll take it off now.” He pulled it over his head and arranged it next to himself. Underneath he wore a torn black  _Stryper_  shirt and jeans. Steve jostled himself to get more comfortable.

“You really love that thing huh?” Bucky gazed at the yellow rain coat laying on the floor, dripping water onto the carpet.

“My little sister gave it to me, when I left home. Said ‘It’s always raining! Take this since you can’t you use umbrella anymore.’ I didn’t really use her umbrella that much,” Bucky furrowed his brow, trying to scrounge up the memory, yet finding it gliding out of his grasp, like trying to catch smoke. “I think it was pink with my little pony on it.” He stared at the ground frowning. “She hated it, wanted the green and blue one with the transformers. I thought it was funny though.” Bucky fidgeted with his shoes. “She was a real fire cracker.”

“Does she come to visit you?” Bucky looked up startled as if forgetting Steve was there.

“Not really, at least not anymore.” Steve looked at the window, raising to open it and clear out the smell of fried food. He grunted with strain and shoved the window open slightly, just enough to for the breeze to come through but not enough to let in the rain.

“You should give her a call sometime, you seem like you miss her and I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you. When I was younger, I used to always wish I had siblings, someone older and able to help me fight. Not that I didn’t give the bullies hell on my own, but it would have been nice to actually _win_ for once.” Steve sighed. “I got a lot of shit when I was younger.”

“Why?” Bucky asked. Steve gestured to his whole body.

“Look at me, a stubborn short ass with a big mouth and too many allergies to count. I’m not exactly a catch.” Steve scratched his chin. "I couldn't stand watching them pick on anyone else."

“I’m glad you admit to being stubborn.” Steve threw a piece of chicken at him. Bucky glared at him playfully. “You’re such a punk.”  
  
“And you’re a jerk, see we compliment each other.” Bucky shoved him. Steve feel back, rubbing his eyes tiredly but couldn’t help smiling.

“I’m really glad you let me in that night.” Steve’s eyes flickered to Bucky. Bucky sitting cross legged, with his wild hair and pale face wearing his ripped up black clothes, eyes trained on Steve. Steve suddenly felt a wave of affection for this strange man who stands alone in the rain at night.

“Me too.” They gazed at each other for a moment. “I mean who else would I throw food at?” Steve heaved himself up with a grunt. “Yeah. I’m pretty sure my Ma wouldn’t have been able to look after another kid. I was already a handful and she had to fight every step of the way to support us.” Bucky hummed, his hair blowing in the window from the window.

“Rebecca and I got on like a house on fire, didn’t mean we were perfect though. You could hear us fighting two streets over.” Steve yawned, glancing at the clock.

“I don’t want to kick you out but I’m about to pass out right now. See you tomorrow?” Bucky got up, putting on his yellow rain coat and taking the plates into the kitchen. He smiled at Steve as he walked through the door.

“Yeah, I’d like that. See you Steve.”

Steve cluttered around the kitchen, throwing the dishes into the sink before getting changed for bed. Like clock work he swapped out the bowl and set down some fresh towels. He lay in bed and felt his eyes grow heavy.

Steve woke up to the sound of his phone ringing, the cheery tune blasting in his ear. He groaned, checking the time.

**2:07AM**

He squinted at the blinding light of the screen and pressed the answer button.

“Hello? God do you know time it is?”

He heard the sound of rushing water before it disconnected. A sharp moan made him jump, surveying the area around him and clutching the blanket closer. He looked up. The roof had formed a small unnatural dip, black blemishes spreading. He got out of bed slowly and went into the kitchen, turning on the light.

_CRRRSHHHHHHHHHH **HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH**_  
  
Steve shouted, spinning around to see the television sitting the middle of the living room. He stared at it with horror. Running into the bedroom and yanking on his shoes, he hauled the television up and darted outside, shambling down the stairs as quickly as possible. Heaving the door open with one hand, he threw the television outside. It smashed into the pavement, sparking and sputtering, the screen smashed in and frame snapped. Steve watched it in the dark, his panting pluming into steam in the crisp night air. He held his face in his hands for a moment, then went back up the stairs to collapse in bed.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I based this off a movie called Dark Water (2002 version) and while the start is kind of similar, it will deviate more from the movie as the story progresses. 
> 
> I'm really sorry if I don't update super regularly I have a lot of work right now, but soon I'll have free time and be able post more


End file.
